


Shacking Up

by frnklymrshnkly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Cat Hair, F/F, Shacking Up, at least 51 per cent Gryff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 14:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15932576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnklymrshnkly/pseuds/frnklymrshnkly
Summary: Rolanda asks the big questions before moving into Minerva's rooms.





	Shacking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 7 & 8 September prompts from [Sapphic September 2018](https://golden-queen-writes.tumblr.com/post/177602640443/sapphic-september-2018) (“Cat” and "Sunlight")
> 
> This drabble is unbeta'd. Please excuse my slovenliness.

When Minerva and Rolanda broached the subject of shacking up, Rolanda was all for it. She’d never been the indecisive sort, and she loved the pants off of Minerva. (Frequently and with gusto.)

She did, however, have one key reservation.

“You don’t transform much? Recreationally, that is? Do you?”

Minerva looked a bit surprised.

“I’m allergic to cat hair,” Rolanda elaborated.

“Ah.” Minerva’s response was a trifle curt.

“I say allergic,” Rolanda continued. “I don’t like it on my clothes. Or getting in my mouth. Or, Lachesis’s love-handles, when it get’s it your fucking eye.”

“I see,” said Minerva, now sounding positively clipped.

“I’m not saying you’re not clean. Obviously I’ve been in your room, but I wasn’t sure if you’d been transforming less of late, given—” Rolanda waved her hand between them.

“The athletic shagging between grading marathons?”

“Exactly.”

“Are you telling me,” Minerva began, “that you imagine that, before you began haunting my bedchambers, I spent my ‘free time,’” Minerva punctuated this with air quotes, “lazing about on the flagstones? Napping in pools of sunlight? _Grooming_ myself?” she finished, incredulous.

“Of course not.” Ronlanda embarked on an attempt at placation. “I never imagined any such thing. But I’m not an animagus, am I? I don’t know how you keep it up. I know you transform for the second-years every year. But what do I know about the thing?”

Minerva’s tight lips relaxed a bit, and her brow furrow shifted, seeming to express consideration rather than anger. Rolanda had rarely met anyone with a face as expressive as Minerva. She loved it. She never worried that Minerva was cross and letting it fester, or anxious but refusing to share the burden. Minerva McGonagall had a sub-zero level of artifice. It’s what had attracted Rolanda—to meet another woman who had the kind of confidence to express herself like that. It had been a relief.

Of course, that thing she did with her hipbone had been a nice bonus.

And, very much not wanting Minerva to stop doing that thing with her hipbone, Rolanda continued veering the conversation into safe territory.

“How do you keep it up?” she asked, interest genuinely piqued.

“At this point I don’t need to,” was Minerva’s response. “After you manage the transformation the first time… Well, from there the magic sort of begins to settle in—it gets more and more entrenched. It becomes a part of you. I suppose it depends on the animagus. For me, I’d say after six or seven years I just knew it was permanent. That I’d never forget how, never not be able to transform. It might be faster for others—for those who transform 'recreationally,' as you put it.”

That didn’t surprise Rolanda. “No. I’ll bet for you it was completely intellectual. No turning into a tabby and frolicking in the daisies for you.”

Minerva snorted. “No, I think not. But I wouldn’t say my reasons were _completely_ intellectual. I admit, I relished the challenge. But when I was sixteen and began reading about it… I can’t deny that it seemed… cool.”

It was Rolanda’s turn to laugh. “Can’t imagine you caring about that.”

“We’re all teenagers once,” Minerva countered sagely. “And in Gryffindor being able to master bold magical feats counts for a lot.”

Rolanda laughed even harder. “You don’t say.” 

After a moments pause, Rolanda continued, “So what you’re saying, is you’re definitely at least fifty-one percent Gryffindor.”

“Undoubtedly,” Minerva agreed. “Though with a healthy Ravenclaw streak, I think.”

“That’s just as well,” said Rolanda, “I like a bit of showboating from the women I live with.”


End file.
